


Without You.

by totallynotjohngreen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Lydia needs hugs, Scott needs hugs, big oof there's a lot of pain in this, i might make it turn out okay depending on the response mmm, i'm killing off my fave tbh, they all need hugs tbh, when I say angst I mean it kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-04-28 10:22:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallynotjohngreen/pseuds/totallynotjohngreen
Summary: Scott has to deal with a devastating loss, too shortly after the first of Allison. In the midst of  his grief, his rage, his anger, he tries to keep a hold on the true alpha he is, versus the alpha Peter really wants him to be.





	1. A Dream.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set just after Smoke and Mirrors (the season 4 finale). It takes place between s4 and s5, and in s5 as well. Everything is the same except for the major death. Have fun!

* * *

 

 

He remembered fighting, he remembered Kate, then he remembered nothing.

 

Then he saw Liam, _begging_ him to come back, saying he wasn’t a monster. Liam echoed Scott’s words from what seemed so long ago as he plead to the alpha that he wasn’t a monster. He was a werewolf, like him.

 

Scott woke up. He tore off the armor, he turned right to who he knew had to have been the one to do this deed, to betray them all. “You,” he snarled as he pointed to Peter, “you were the only one besides Argent that knew about Berserkers, or Nagual, or the werejaguars or any of it! You helped Kate do this.”

 

Peter put on that twinkling empty smile. “Yes, I helped Kate. I helped her to restore the power of the Hale family, back with us where it belongs, not to be usurped by some _idiot teenage boy!”_ He spat. “You have never had to kill for anything in your life, _True Alpha_ ,” Peter mocked, “So let me do it for you.”

 

Before Scott could run to the elder wolf, he’d grabbed the nearest person, and then the next thing Scott remembered was red, red, oozing red, and screaming, and then it was blank.

 


	2. Empty.

* * *

 

          Scott woke again panting and crying, hugging his arms to himself and scrabbling for his night lamp. His lungs felt as if he had asthma once again, and he hacked and coughed, just trying to regain some control. His mother was in his room in an instant, holding him close and comforting him best he could. “Another nightmare?”

He nodded. They’d been going on for a month now, bit by bit, agonizingly replaying the events of that night. His mom sat there a moment, staring at her son with tears starting to well in her eyes. "Oh, baby. I know. Scotty, baby, I know." She hugged him again. "Look, I won't force you, but.. you know you agreed to finish the semester."

 

He nodded, moving to the edge of his bed. "I just, I need, momma...mom, I need-" He didn't even finish before tears hit his eyes and he began to wail all over again, and Melissa was crying too, holding her baby close and smoothing down his hair and letting him sob into her shoulder.

 

The next morning was agonizing, getting dressed and going up to the high school that would now never be the same. He walked the halls like a ghost, and everyone noticed, everyone. There were whispers, and he heard all of them, every tone and voice. His name. Everything. He stared at the ground, hunched over and in so much emotional pain he thought his body would collapse.

 

His teachers didn't speak to him, didn't call him out. Natalie Martin had a session with him during study period, and she got nothing out of him. Scott McCall was not speaking to anyone, not even Lydia, whose normally bright face was sallow and haunted (even though she hadn't been there- she'd just screamed) or Malia, who tried not to cry and snarled in a feral manner every time someone looked at her, and not even Kira, who he'd been actually dating. Liam and Mason stayed back, Liam trying to forget what he'd witnessed, the breaking of his alpha. Scott didn't even glance at the lockers. His heart would break all over again.

 

He kept thinking he heard him laughing. He kept thinking he could feel the hand clap him on the shoulder, hear the voice jabber on, like, "Scott, buddy, you'll never believe what Malia and I found out about the Desert Wolf. Dude, she's totally badass." But when Scott looked over his shoulder, it was revealed to be his imagination. After all, his best friend wasn't here anymore.

 

God, he felt a pain in his heart at that. When would he be able to accept it? There was no getting him back.

 

Because Peter had shown Scott what it was to kill. And he’d not just killed any werewolf or kitsune.

 

Peter had killed an innocent. His claws had raked across the throat of Stiles.

 

Skinny, defenseless, Stiles.


	3. Hoodie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: possible triggering thoughts, heavy angst.

* * *

 

He didn't have the guts to touch his room.

 

He'd walked past his son's room many times, each time taking in the way Stiles had left it. Door ajar, clothes strewn on the floor, the red threads of his crime boards vibrant, and his bed unmade, his lacrosse stuff thrown across it like an afterthought. Noah wanted nothing more than to lock that door from the inside and slam it shut, so he'd never have to see his son's aftermath again, but he couldn't.

 

It had been the first week after the murder when Melissa had come over to help him try to get his house in order. His son was imprinted everywhere, his handwriting in so many notes and lists that it was all Noah could do not to scream. He didn't want to get his house, or his life, in order. He wanted to lay down on his bed and die, he wanted to join his son and his wife. It was bad enough at the funeral last week, that casket holding his boy. He'd been dressed up in a blue suit. It looked nice on him, and more importantly, covered the horrifying slash marks from his throat to his midsection. When Noah had gone to the coffin he'd broken down again. Now, Melissa was helping him sort the laundry. But it happened. As Noah pulled out the next item from the stack, he found it to be soft, and far too small to be his. A faded red color, covered in dirt stains. Tears welled up in his eyes as he held the hoodie. Stiles' hoodie, his favorite hoodie. It still smelled like him, like coffee and Red Bull, sharpies and dirt and a faint bit like drool. Noah's throat caught and he cursed. He cursed Peter for killing his son, cursed everyone, even cursed Scott for getting bit in the first place. He cursed himself for his son finding out about the half of the body in the woods, cursed himself for not helping more, for not being in Mexico with him. Melissa had her arms around him, crying gently. 

 

He gave the hoodie to Melissa, to take home to Scott. He couldn't stand to have it, and besides, he couldn't put it away. He didn't have the guts to touch Stiles' room.


	4. Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I don't know what to label my warnings as but just know this chapter contains angst and mentions of death.

* * *

 

Lydia wasn't at the church when it happened. She was trapped with Mason in the basement of the school, a Berserker blocking their path. She'd already predicted Derek's death, but something had been nagging at her about the visions. There was something missing. But just as she and Mason were about to try another tactic to get out, the ringing in her ears intensified and she screamed. _No_ , she thought, _no, I already screamed. Who's going to die? Who's going to die?_

 

She never forgave herself for not figuring it out. 

 

It was Lydia who collected Stiles' stuff from his locker, gathering his lacrosse stick, extra jerseys, his books and his notebook full of that scrawling handwriting. She felt every eye on her as she did it, felt everyone whispering about the sheriff's son who had been murdered by Peter Hale. The story was that he had gotten too close to discovering Peter's series of homicides. Lydia knew it was more. Lydia knew Stiles had already discovered those homicides, a year and a half ago, and Stiles had figured out that Jackson was the kanima, and Stiles had figured out that something was wrong with him, and Stiles had turned off the dead pool with Malia. Stiles had figured out everything. Stiles always figured out everything. But he wouldn't be able to figure out how to just pop out of a grave. She slammed his locker closed and hurried out of school, toting Stiles' stuff in a bag. Noah had already told her that he didn't want to touch any of it, or put it in his room, so she'd distribute it as she saw fit. But Lydia would keep something for herself: his extra team jersey, Stilinski 24. 

 

She could keep up the facade at school, but the minute she got home, she burst into tears and broke down, losing her grip on the bag. Stiles' stuff spilled everywhere and she held the jersey to her as she cried. 

 

It was not the last time she would do so.


	5. All Hale.

* * *

 

Malia would never forgive him. Peter and her mother had killed everyone she cared about. Her mother, years ago, had murdered her adoptive mother and sister, and her father had killed Stiles, the boy who was her anchor, who had given her all he could and cared so much for her. She hadn't seen it, hadn't seen how much he cared after she found out he'd lied, and she'd pushed him away.

 

She'd never gotten him back.

 

It was the worst mistake she'd ever made.

 

Now, filled with regret, she trudged through the school halls, trying to find some direction. She found it in simple thought.

 

She'd already planned to kill her mother. Might as well make it a family date and kill her father too.


End file.
